Under the Weather
by MellodramaticLawliet
Summary: Under normal circumstances Sherlock Holmes is tough to handle, but John quickly realizes that a sick Sherlock Holmes is much more than he bargained for. Johnlock oneshot, much fluff, no Mary.


**A/N**

 **Quick Sherlock drabble since I'm still in deep denial of Series 4.**

 **This takes place in an au completely devoid of Mary.**

"Well obviously it wasn't - achoo! - her." Sherlock paced about the cramped room in an agitated manner, though was mindful enough to carefully step around the dead body sprawled on the floor.

" _Obviously_." John shook his head, trying, and failing, to keep his wry smile to himself, "To you maybe. Would you mind explaining it to the rest of us?"

"Really?" Sherlock feigned surprise, "One only has to observe the - " he sneezed, "state of her - " he sneezed again, "fingernails to - " Sherlock sneezed for a third time, pausing to sniffle and glare at the poor forensic analyst who had awkwardly attempted to hand him a tissue.

"Sherlock." John frowned, "Are you alright?"

"Obviously I'm fine, John." Sherlock rolled his eyes and resumed his pacing, though John noticed his quick nose rub as he dramatically hopped over the body, "As you can see, the yellowing around the cuticles of her nails, as well as the discoloration of her skin and hair _prior_ to her death would suggest a longtime drug habit..." he trailed off and dubiously accepted the tissue the forensic analyst held out to him.

John rolled his eyes and walked over to him, reaching for his neck.

"John?" Sherlock made a weak attempt to push John's hands away from his throat.

"Shut up, I'm checking your lymph nodes." John continued to rub his fingers into the skin under Sherlock's jaw. "They're horrendously swollen."

Sherlock pushed past him irritably, "I said I was fine."

" _Obviously_ , you're not." John folded his arms, "You have a cold at the very least, and I would prefer to give you a more thorough examination."

Sherlock grimaced, "I don't get _colds._ Besides -" he sneezed and glared at the dead body in mock concentration, "I have to stay and solve this case."

John raised an eyebrow at him, "We both know you've already solved it in your head, now tell Greg the answer and let's go home before you make yourself worse."

"I haven't solved it." Sherlock resumed his pacing, rubbing at his nose whenever he thought John wasn't looking, "It's really quite perplexing actually. There's no way this lot would ever be able to figure it out on their own, isn't that right James?" He looked to Lestrade expectantly.

"It's _Greg,"_ Lestrade corrected him, "And we could probably handle this one without you if you're under the weather."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Yes, thank you for your input. Clearly I won't be asking for it again."

"I can tell from your voice that you're becoming congested." John folded his arms, "Ready to give up yet?"

Sherlock whirled around and pointed a finger accusingly at the body, "That stain on the right shoulder of her coat, is that coffee?"

"Yeah," Lestrade nodded, "Our forensic team told us that much. What does it have to do with anything?"

Sherlock shook his head vehemently, "I don't know, maybe something."

"Foggy mind?" John couldn't bite back his sarcastic remark.

"Shut up." Sherlock sent a withering glare over his shoulder, "Her wallet was missing when you found her like this, correct?"

"Yes."

"Oh! Now that is brilliant." Sherlock clapped his hands together in front of his face excitedly.

"You've just cracked it, haven't you?" John asked pointedly.

"Erm, no," Sherlock backtracked "No, perhaps I was wrong, I may have to stay here another hour to examine the body -"

He was cut off as John grabbed the back of his coat and began to pull him through the doorway, "Say your goodbyes Sherlock, you can text Greg the answer on the cab ride back to Baker Street."

"It was the son!" Sherlock shouted as John continued to pull him along.

"Come on, you great moron." John grumbled.

"I'm not sick." Sherlock reluctantly followed John into the cab, fixing his collar as he did so.

"Yeah, and I'm not a doctor."

"Well, some days I do wonder..." Sherlock smirked at him, though his expression quickly turned when John threatened to give him the most thorough check over he's ever had.

When they finally arrived back at Baker Street, Sherlock had sneezed a total of twelve times, and coughed at least ten.

"Still think you're not sick?" John chuckled as Sherlock rubbed ruefully at his red nose. "Your face seems a bit flushed," John frowned and leaned up on his tiptoes to brush the hair away from Sherlock's forehead, "You definitely have a fever. Sherlock, why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

Sherlock's face flushed even more as he pushed John's hand away, "It's not that bad. I feel fine."

John rolled his eyes and opened the door for him, "Yeah, you've said."

As soon as they got up the stairs Sherlock flopped unceremoniously onto the couch and groaned until Mrs. Hudson offered to make him some tea.

"You know for someone who won't admit he's ill, you're really milking it." John smiled wryly as he brought out his medical kit.

"Oh for god's sake," Sherlock eyed the thermometer dubiously, "I don't need an examination. Just let me -"

"Let you go to your room so you can stay up all night and type on your computer and reorganize your sock index?" John shook his head ruefully, "I'm not an idiot you know, now open wide."

When Sherlock refused John reached up, and Sherlock flinched as John's fingers brushed his jaw, "I am in fact an adult, John. At least let me do it myself."

John rolled his eyes but handed him the thermometer, which ended up reading, "Forty degrees Celsius!" John smacked his forehead, "Sherlock, do you have any idea how dangerous it to go running about, at a bloody crime scene nonetheless, with a forty degree fever?"

Sherlock folded his arms, "I still managed to solve it."

"This isn't about..." John trailed off and sighed, "Now I definitely need to make sure it's not some sort of infection. Does it hurt your head to bend over?"

"No."

"Are you lying to me?"

"No, John." Sherlock made to stand up, and John pushed him back down and pulled out an otoscope.

"Now, I'm going to check your ears."

"Why do you even have -" he was cut off as John leaned over him, and he abruptly stiffened.

"That's it, Sherlock." John frowned as Sherlock made to shove him away. Catching Sherlock's hands in his own, he quickly planted his knees on either side of Sherlock's legs on the couch and sat in his lap, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's chuckling from the kitchen, and proceeded to check Sherlock's ears.

"There." He said, leaning back, "You don't have an ear infection, and I don't think you have a chest infection. All I need to do now is check the back of your throat and you're free to go." John paused as he noticed Sherlock refusing to meet his eyes, "Sherlock, I need to check your throat."

Sherlock's cheeks were bright red, and John took this as a further sign of his fever. Before he could say anything, Sherlock turned his head and opened his mouth, allowing John to check the back of his throat.

"There, see now that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

Sherlock didn't reply, so John climbed off his lap and they accepted the tea from Mrs. Hudson. For a moment John simply stood over him, watching as Sherlock mournfully sipped at his tea, when he noticed him shivering. Rolling his eyes John stood and retrieved a blanket from his room and draped it over Sherlock.

"You should really try to get some sleep." John frowned at him.

"Sleeping. Sleeping's boring." Sherlock made to stand up, so John pushed him back down and sat next to him.

"I may not be able to force you to sleep, but you're definitely not going anywhere."

"And who's going to stop me, you?"

John chuckled dangerously, "You keep forgetting, Sherlock, I was a soldier."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Yes I've heard. In fact my cheekbone remembers that story quite well."

"You're forgetting who punched who first."

"Whom." Sherlock sighed when John stared at him incredulously, "I'm forgetting who punched _whom_ first."

"Whatever. My point is that you punched me, and it was entirely uncalled for."

"Uncalled for." Sherlock muttered sarcastically, sipping his tea.

"For a disguise that didn't even work."

"It would have. How was I supposed to know they were expecting us?" Sherlock glared at him from his blanket cocoon and John snorted at the sight.

"Says the man who thinks he can predict fortune cookies."

"Oh like that's difficult. They're all practically the same anyway. "You shall come into great fortune in two day's time."" He deepened his voice mockingly, "Now it's the numbers that still escape me."

"The day you predict the lucky numbers on the back of a fortune cookie, is the day I declare my undying love for Lestrade." John rolled his eyes.

Sherlock snorted into his cup, "I'm sure he'd be thrilled. You're a much better catch than that wife of his. Did I ever mention she's sleeping with the gym teacher again?"

"Again? Honestly." John shook his head.

"Yes, and you would never cheat on him. At least not with a gym teacher."

"I would like to think I wouldn't cheat on him period." John rolled his eyes, "Though perhaps you should date Greg, no one really knows what you're into anyway."

"Who's Greg?" Sherlock sneezed.

John stood to retrieve the tissue box from the opposite side of the room and elected not to respond to this, instead replying, "In any case at least you would be letting Molly down easily."

He sat back down beside Sherlock and attempted to hand over the tissues. Sherlock raised an eyebrow disdainfully and John balanced the box in his lap instead.

"How would I be letting her down?" Sherlock sniffled and drew the blanket closer around himself.

"Oh come on, you have to have noticed."

"Noticed what?"

John sputtered for a moment, trying to comprehend how the world's most observant man could be so completely ignorant. "Sherlock, you know everything about everyone else's love life. You read my e-mails to my girlfriends for christ sake. How can you not know?"

Sherlock shrugged, "Perhaps I was paying more attention to someone else."

"Oh? Like who?"

Sherlock's cheeks pinked, and he pulled a tissue from the box in his lap, "Whom."

John's eyes narrowed, "Sherlock, is there something you're not telling me?"

He began to rip the tissue into small sections, his gaze trained in his hands, "Of course not John, you divulge details of your love life to me, even when I don't ask for them. Why should I keep anything from you?"

John wasn't sure if it was the fever or not, but Sherlock's lie was obvious even to him, "Oh come on, you obviously like someone. Who is it?"

Sherlock opened his mouth and John closed his eyes, "Sherlock for the love of god if you say "whom is it" I will - "

He was cut off as Sherlock's lips pressed lightly to his. His eyes flew open as Sherlock leaned back, his face the same alarming shade as the Pink Lady's phone case. "As always, Watson, you see but you do not - achoo! - observe."

"You..." John trailed off, touching one finger to his lips in surprise, "I'm the one you..."

"Yes, yes." Sherlock waved flippantly, though John could see the embarrassment in his expression, "The sneezing rather ruined the dramatic effect, however I do believe my actions have made it quite clear that you - "

He was caught off guard as John took his turn to cut Sherlock's sentence short, "Oh shut up, you great prat."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as John cupped his cheek and leaned his head back. Sherlock removed one arm from under his blanket and slid it around John's waist, reveling in the way he smiled into the kiss and slid one hand into Sherlock's curls, the other moving to rest on his chest.

Sherlock slid one hand under John's jumper and ran a cold finger along the length of his spine. John shivered and pressed closer. Sherlock pulled away only far enough to rest his forehead on John's, "Why didn't I think of doing this sooner? It would have saved us both so much time and effort."

John smirked at him, "I guess we'll just have to make up for lost time."

Sherlock smiled back and lifted John's jumper as John pulled at the buttons on his shirt. Sherlock wasted no time in running his hands along John's exposed chest, "Well now I know why you brag about being a soldier so often... Perhaps I should consider joining the military as well."

John snorted, "You would last five minutes in the army."

"Nonsense." Sherlock leaned in again, "I could at least last ten."

John leaned forward until he was lying on top of him, and Sherlock wound his arms around him. They stayed like this for quite a while, though eventually John noticed Sherlock was shivering.

"Shit! Sher - " he paused and a funny expression came over his face, "Achoo!"

John's nose had begun to run, and his forehead felt significantly warmer than it had earlier, "For the love of..."

"I suppose it's my turn to give you an examination." Sherlock smirked at him and reached for the thermometer.

John sat up and allowed Sherlock to check his temperature. "Thirty nine point five degrees celsius." Sherlock wrapped his blanket around the both of them, "I suppose, being the doctor in this situation, you should have known better."

"Shut up - " he sneezed, "Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't respond but to smirk and hand him the tissue box.

Mrs. Hudson found them fast asleep together on the couch a few hours later when she came to offer Sherlock more tea. "I should have known..." She smiled to herself and snapped a quick picture of the two of them cuddled under a blanket together and surrounded by a mountain of tissues, quickly sending it to the Detective Inspector. Greg would love this one.

 **A/N**

 **I hope you liked it!**

 **As always I love your input so please favorite/follow/review!**

 **Good Memories and Nightmares**

 **\- MDL**


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